


Being Neighborly

by Sevynlira



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Neighbors, Guns, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27564955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevynlira/pseuds/Sevynlira
Summary: Dean is so bored. So incredibly bored! Until his trench coat wearing neighbor doesn't come home one day. Should he check on the guy? It's been two days! He could be in trouble.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 10





	Being Neighborly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NEG85](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NEG85/gifts).



> Happy Birthday NEG85. I hope this little story makes you smile :)

Something was wrong. He just knew it. It was after eight. Well past eight and he wasn’t home. Dean hadn’t heard the familiar smack of his keychain and the thud of his shoes onto the hardwood floor. No scent of dinner. No thumping rattle of gunfire in his favorite game. Silence. Ominous silence. Where was he?

It only takes a few minutes of these worries before he can even feel the familiar embarrassment at his own nosiness. It doesn’t concern him. It really doesn’t. Castiel is his neighbor. When he comes home isn’t any of Dean’s business. Not really. This has to stop. He can’t keep monitoring his weird nerdy neighbor. It arguably makes him even weirder. 

But he can’t really help it. The boredom. The sheer maddening monotony was driving him absolutely up the wall. He is one month into being stuck at home recovering from a compound fracture. The car jack he had inherited with Baby was apparently past it’s prime and somehow slipped. Four thousand pounds of car had quickly reminded him of his comparative fragility. Quite forcefully. His leg is now pinned together with titanium and he had at least two more weeks of recovery before he could do anything other than sit here and slowly lose his mind. The only break he had this entire time has been the regular coming and going of his neighbor. Castiel. A man that he now knew way too much about.

Castiel has a Netflix account. He watches baking shows. He cooks pasta. A lot of pasta. He plays Call of Duty and Destiny. He always takes his shoes off in the house, just beside the door. He wears this long hideous trench coat that Dean would have called a flasher coat, before he had seen Castiel striding across the parking lot wearing it. It somehow suits the man. Castiel hardly gets any mail at all. The only way Dean had been able to glean his name was because he had a visitor a couple of times. A British guy who said his name with frustration and impatience. He was a douchebag, Dean decided. The British guy. He must be a coworker or something. Not a lover. Because. He hadn’t stayed. Just bitched and moaned and left. Dean keeps telling himself. 

Dean is careful to not think about why he cares. 

It’s nine. Ten. Castiel still isn’t home. Something is wrong.

All day. Not a sound. Dean can feel his anxiety rising. 

Two days. Dean is working a lockpick into the keyhole and lifting the pins with delicate care. It’s been a long time since his days of casual B&E. He manages it quicker than he thought he would. 

The apartment is so much emptier than he had imagined. Sparse. Immaculate. There is a folding chair with a crappy card table that seems to serve as a dining room and living room seating. There is a massive television with a gaming console, but it appears to be the most expensive items in the apartment. It takes less than ten minutes to see the entire space. Cheap toothbrush and travel sized deodorant. Castiel hadn’t packed his things. No clothes. Anywhere. Not a stitch. Maybe he had packed? It’s all so odd. And there is the crate. In the corner of the bedroom. Wooden crate. Out of place. A little bit sinister. 

Something is off about this entire thing. Dean has the distinct impression that he really shouldn’t look inside the crate. He should leave now. This shit isn’t his business and it would be better to butt out. 

He has never been one to listen to the voice of reason, why should he start now?

The crate has guns. Of course it does. Tactical weapons that certainly aren’t there for hunting deer or even just a hobbyist. No. These have all the signs of being completely illegal. 

Dammit Cas. What are you up to? Gone for two days and a crate of machine guns. Not good. Not good at all. 

Once again, that little voice pipes up with an urgent message about trouble and prison and such. And he was going to listen to it. He really was! 

Until he spots the half scraped off shipping label. 

So of course he goes to call in some favors. His neighbor might be in trouble!

And, well, it is the most fun he has had in at least a month. There is that.


End file.
